This was crazy. Piper had no idea how to get Faiza away from her employers and across the border.

Faiza’s face was a playground of emotions, with hope and defeat riding opposite ends of a seesaw. Defeat quickly won out. “I would do anything, but there is no possibility, my dear friend. Your kindness means much to me.”

Kindness wasn’t enough. All the way home, Piper thought about helping Faiza escape. It wouldn’t be easy to get her out of the country. But it might be possible.

All she needed was a little help...

9

“You want me to do what?” Cooper Graham snatched a cherry lollipop from his mouth.

She’d cornered him in his rooftop garden, where he was nurturing his cucumbers before the first frost could get them. Even though October had arrived, the garden’s high brick walls, multiple levels, and comfortable lounging area formed a beautiful oasis. Raised vegetable beds held cool-weather crops of leeks and spinach; beets, turnips, and broccoli. Big glazed pots and stone jardinières displayed mixes of rosemary and zinnia, parsley and dahlia, lemongrass and marigold. She hadn’t liked discovering he’d built this garden himself. It upset some of what she wanted to believe about him.

“You’re an adrenaline junkie,” she pointed out, crumpling some mint leaves in her fingers. “This should be right up your alley.”

“You really are taking medication. Crazy pills!” He plopped the lollipop back in his mouth and returned to the cucumbers.

“A deeply offensive comment,” she said with a sniff. “But I’ll rise above.”

“You do that.”

As she moved around a pot of pepper plants to get closer, she noticed a potting table tucked behind the wooden lattice that defined the garden’s lounging area. Something on top caught her attention. She gave herself time to regroup by going over to investigate. “What’s this?” She held up a perfectly rounded ball of hard-packed dirt, one of half a dozen sitting on top of the table.

“Seed bomb. Unlike you, I have no ethics.”

“Meaning...?”

“I’m a guerrilla gardener. Some clay, peat moss, and a batch of seeds shaped into a ball. That’s all it takes.”

She was starting to get the picture. “You’re an urban Johnny Appleseed. You toss these into empty lots.”

“It’s getting too late in the season now. Best times are spring and early fall. With a little luck and some rain at the right time, a hardscrabble plot of dirt starts to bloom.” He reached across the cukes to pull off a few yellowed tomato leaves. “Coreopsis, coneflowers, black-eyed Susans. Maybe some prairie grass. Fun to watch.”

“How long have you been doing this?”

“Two, three years. I don’t know.”

“I thought you were laundering drug money.”

He grinned for the first time since she’d cornered him. “You did not.”